by Kevin George
“You sure seem to know a lot about the subject,” Pam said. “Figured you for a crazy old drunk.”
“I used to be a teacher,” Richard said, “before education became a privatized industry designed for profit. I refused to teach updated versions of the truth so I didn’t last long.”
Pam nodded. Near the fence, one of the drivers could be heard yelling at the guards. Pam frowned and hurried over. Richard eyed the opening in the fence and wondered if he could squeeze his hovercraft through the small space beside the massive truck. Had this been any other day, he might have given it a shot. But he’d finally gotten the lead guard to listen to him, finally gotten someone from One Corp. to look at him like an actual person rather than a disgruntled ‘situation’ that needed to be handled.
Richard followed Pam and listened to her yell at the truck driver about something or other involving proper procedures. The driver withered under her tirade and turned around, allowing the rest to drive through the open gate.
“They’ll never learn,” Pam told the other guards.
“Go back to your home, old man,” one of the guards called out to Richard. “I wish One Corp. would relocate me to an area as nice as yours.”
Richard snickered. “It’s not like they gave me a new model ISU. Mine’s an older unit and nothing seems to work in it. Isn’t much warmer than out here or else I might stay inside more often.”
“You can run a diagnostic test on the different systems to find out what’s wrong,” Pam said. “And if that doesn’t work, you could call customer service so they can—”
“I tried all of that,” Richard said, watching the guards wave more trucks through. “But I can’t understand Chinese accents and nobody seems to want to help me.”
“And you think coming here is the answer?” one of the guards asked, causing the others to chuckle.
Pam waved away their laughter and stepped closer to Richard, speaking so only he could hear. “I can’t begin to imagine the things you’ve gone through in life. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’d like to apologize on behalf of One Corp. for any role we’ve played in your difficulties. But please, you have to stop coming here. There’s nothing for you any longer, not your house or your lands.”
Richard exhaled deeply. He had zero trust in anything about One Corp.—and he never would—but there was something about this young woman that he believed. For years, all he’d wanted was to set foot in his old home a final time. Now that he knew it was impossible, he didn’t feel the utter hopelessness he’d expected. In fact, quite the opposite was true. With nothing left for him in life, he no longer had anything to lose.
For a brief moment, he considered going to Texas to win back his wife. . . or driving to his oldest daughter to apologize for his failures as a father. . . or traveling to the East Coast, trading his hovercraft for any kind of boat he could use to search the water-logged graveyard where his younger daughter had gone missing. . .
But as quickly as he saw his future changing, his eyes wandered beyond the gates, toward the forest of fallen trees and the construction equipment flowing in and out of his former homeland. Richard shook his head, as much at the guard’s words as to his own plans for changing.
“What’s being built there? Why does One Corp. need so much land and so many workers? They control damn near an entire county and countless workers, but I’ve heard nothing on the TV about what’s going on,” Richard said.
Pam smiled. “That tells me confidentiality agreements have been taken seriously. I only work physical security at this post, but even I’m afraid of One Corp.’s private investigation force that ensures secrecy is being upheld.”
“I wouldn’t be too pleased with your company’s secrecy,” Richard said with a snort of his own. “I want to know about the digging. . . about the tunnels. . . about the village and the mountain sanctuary and—”
More of the guards began to gather around, listening with rapt fascination as Richard listed fact after fact that he wasn’t supposed to know. Pam marched toward him, raising her gun until it was inches from his face. Her friendly, sympathetic façade now gone, Richard realized she would never let him in. A part of him even hoped she’d squeeze the trigger, if only to put an end to his miserable existence. Pam snapped at the other guards to get back to work before growling quietly at Richard.
“How do you know all of that?”
“You think signing a piece of paper will keep thousands of workers quiet? This place is far too big to keep whatever secret One Corp. has going on,” Richard said. “You’re obviously planning something big.”
“Even if the company is, that’s none of my concern,” Pam said. “My job is to keep people out by any means necessary. I do my job and don’t ask questions because I care about my future.”
“Is an extinction level event coming?” Richard asked, slowly backing up as Pam stalked forward with her weapon still raised. His words came quicker, slurring together as the cold air and gun made him feel more drunk instead of less. “Something about the climate becoming more out of control? Are One Corp. and the government working together to keep citizens in the dark? Is that why vaccinations are being withheld from the public? Is this project another way to keep thinning the herd?”
“No,” Pam said. “But squeezing this trigger might.”
Richard stopped and sighed, closing his eyes until he felt the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead. “Sometimes I’m glad my family isn’t around to suffer these travesties. Go ahead, do what you must.”
Richard felt the gun pulled back. He opened his eyes to see Pam frowning. “I have a family of my own,” she said. “Protecting them is the most important thing in my life, even if I don’t like what my job sometimes entails. Please, I beg you, go away and don’t come back. Don’t force me to get rid of you by doing something I don’t want to do.”
Richard saw the conflict in her eyes. He could stand there and argue all day about the atrocities created by One Corp., but he realized the guards were no more important than any of the truck drivers speeding by or the laborers working to rip his homeland apart. Despite the woman’s threats, Richard didn’t want to cause a burden on anyone else, at least anyone else of little importance in the grand scheme of One Corp.’s master plans. Richard nodded and turned away.
“You’ve been kind when others weren’t,” he said. “This world isn’t for the old.”
He walked across the road without a care for the trucks speeding by. The closest one missed him by less than a foot and the truck behind it slammed on its breaks, the driver laying on his horn though Richard didn’t look his way. Richard climbed into his hovercraft and exhaled deeply. He reached across the seat and grabbed the whiskey bottle, ignoring the rifle that sat next to it. He took another long drink before spinning the wheel and speeding his hovercraft away.
The hovercraft swerved along both sides of the access road. Richard knew he would never return to the security gate, but that didn’t mean he knew where he would go. All other side roads off of the main highway had been shut down, their access blocked. It was either return to Billings and the life he didn’t want or. . .
He suddenly cut the wheel and glided off the road, listening as the trucks honked behind him. When they were out of sight, he peered through the trees in a familiar area he hadn’t noticed in years. One Corp. may have cleared most trees closer to the security gate—not to mention beyond—but this part of the forest remained mostly intact. Though the trampled, well-worn path Richard had once known was now overgrown with long grass, his usual hunting trail remained intact. Before anyone else could show up and spot what he was doing, he sped the hovercraft through the high grasses, fitting between the trees by mere inches.
Richard barely drove out of sight from the access road when he could drive no farther. He glided to a stop, bumping into a tree along the way. Grabbing the bottle in one hand and his rifle in the other, Richard climbed out of his craft and traipsed into the woods, heading on the same path he
used to walk on early morning hunts.
He’d hiked in these woods with his daughters. . . he’d shown them how to hunt deer (though they’d both hated it, albeit for different reasons). . . he’d walked in silence and enjoyed the solitude of nature whenever he felt like the technology of everyday life pulled his wife and girls away from the natural world. Now, those days were gone forever. A cold wind blew, knocking snow off of nearby trees, causing it to swirl around Richard’s body. Booze warmed his insides, but he distantly felt himself shivering, his body temperature dropping by the minute. He wasn’t dressed for lengthy exposure to the wintry elements and realized the farther he hiked from his hovercraft, the less likely he was to return.
That didn’t stop him. Snow fell heavier between the trees and Richard soon wasn’t sure if he was heading in the right direction. It had been years since he’d walked this path, and never had he hiked it during such bad weather. He heard the echo of voices—nearly becoming lost in the past again—when he realized the voices weren’t coming from his own mind. Richard spun, nearly losing his footing on the slick ground, searching among the trees for several angry voices calling out in the distance.
“He should be around here somewhere!”
“Just follow the tracks!” another voice yelled.
“I would, but they’re all over the place!”
Richard saw a flash of movement in the distance and recognized the uniform of the gate’s security force. He turned and ran in the opposite direction, the voices growing quieter behind him. He didn’t run for more than a minute before his legs felt like rubber and a heavy weight seemed to press against his chest. He stopped and leaned against a tree, gasping for breath. He cursed himself for drinking so much. He considered smashing the bottle still clutched in his hand but ended up taking another long drink, which warmed his belly but caused him to cough even harder.
Richard listened for the voices but heard nothing except beautiful silence. He closed his eyes and smiled, proud that he knew these woods better than the guards. Just when he thought he was in the clear, he heard a light buzzing growing louder by the second. He scanned the ground, searching for any sign of the guards, before finally looking up. He spotted a small drone flying in and out of the trees, suddenly turning toward him. Richard stared at the drone until hearing a small pop followed by a smash. He looked down at his whiskey bottle that had shattered, only the neck still clutched in his hand.
Panicked, Richard started to run, ducking between trees as he heard more pops. Knowing he’d never outrun the drone, he finally stopped and hid behind a tree, certain the drone knew where he’d gone. But he doesn’t know about this. . .
After taking a deep breath and exhaling, Richard stepped out from behind the tree and raised his hunting rifle, the same one he’d used so often in these woods. Though much of the world was spinning around him—and the drone continued to pop off several shots—Richard aimed calmly and fired a single shot, his rifle cracking loudly in the silence of the forest. An electric burst erupted from the drone as it nosedived to the ground.
Richard picked up the neck of his whiskey bottle and approached the downed drone, smashing the remnants of his bottle against it. A small camera atop the drone still turned from side to side, focusing directly on Richard.
“I want my home back,” Richard told the camera and whoever was watching the camera feed. He stumbled away, having no doubt that more drones or more guards would be arriving soon, a premonition proven correct when he heard distant yelling moments later. He continued through the forest, pushing himself as hard as he could go (which wasn’t very hard), knowing that all of his knowledge about these woods wasn’t going to help him get much farther.
Richard’s heart pounded out of control and his head felt lighter as less oxygen made it into his lungs. The pain that attacked his chest no longer felt like simple pains of exhaustion. There was something seriously wrong with him and he no longer cared. He glanced back to see several guards getting closer and he doubted they’d be sympathetic to his medical emergency. Have to make it a little farther. . .
When Richard rushed through a line of trees and emerged into a clearing as far as the eye could see, he stopped, shocked, wondering if he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. But this was close to where his house used to be and he realized the gate guard had told him the truth about nothing being the same. Massive construction vehicles and dump trucks encircled the clearing, leveling more and more trees. Rows upon rows of ISUs filled the clearing, stretching far into the distance, hundreds of newer, bigger models than the ones One Corp. had donated across the country.
Richard stared in the general area where his house had been, unable to muster the level of anger or sadness he should’ve felt. Instead, emptiness filled his soul as he realized everything from his past was truly gone. He fell to his knees from a combination of exhaustion and pain and hopelessness. He stared at the village, at the massive solar panel hubs spread among the ISUs, some of which appeared to be moving, turning slowly, rising into and out of the ground. But most of the action happened far in the distance, almost too far for him to see, the shadows of massive excavation equipment along the base of Mount Hutchins—
“Don’t move.”
The voice growled behind Richard, who didn’t bother to turn around and see whatever generic guard waited behind him. He sensed a gun being aimed at his back, but that did not concern him one bit. Richard’s breath was coming in shorter rasps and blackness started to converge from the corners of his vision.
“This is my home,” Richard said, though he saw no evidence of that being the case.
“Drop your weapon,” the guard warned. “Or face the consequences.”
Richard snorted. He spun and fired his rifle, not exactly trying to hit anything. . .
CHAPTER THREE
Daniel Binstadt wasn’t used to the cold, at least this degree of cold. He held the energy tester in place, waiting for the readings from the main solar panel hub in sector 7, watching the numbers go up but not quickly enough. With his free hand, he tightened the collar on his parka but realized it was already as tight as it would go. Despite the extra layer of clothing he’d donned, his body still shivered.
And I’m only an hour into my shift, he thought, looking into the distance at the rows of vacant ISUs. From where he stood, he could see five more solar panel hubs alone, and that didn’t include the dozens beyond. He would be at this for hours, a realization that made him shiver uncontrollably. It might not have been so bad if the energy readings weren’t as consistently low as they were. . .
Snow began to fall harder. By the time the energy reader beeped, Daniel had to brush snow off of the screen to read the numbers aloud, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.
“It’s not the hub’s fault,” said Aziz Hassan, Daniel’s assistant, who inputted the numbers into a HoloTablet behind him. “The cloudy weather will have a negative effect on the results of the panels.”
Daniel stared up at the heavy clouds before closing his eyes. He fought back a sigh, not the first time today and probably not the last, especially with his assistant constantly stating the obvious.
“I understand how solar panels work,” Daniel said, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I also understand the unpredictability of climate and clouds and heavier snowfall. One Corp.’s board and Mr. Jonas put us in charge of this operation because our panels are supposed to perform better under extreme conditions. I don’t think they’ll accept the whole ‘bad weather’ excuse if we can’t figure out how to sufficiently power the ISUs and The Mountain.”
Daniel stomped away, his feet crunching in the newly fallen snow. Anger at least provided a blast of warmth, but that was gone before he reached the solar hub in sector 8.
“You’re right, of course,” Aziz said as he scurried after him. “The storm isn’t supposed to last long today. Maybe if we waited until later to—”
“To get better results? To tell Mr. Jonas and The Board what they want to hea
r?” Daniel asked, incredulous.
“No, it’s just that our tests have been trending downward during this recent bout of bad weather,” Aziz said. “It’s not like the snows are always going to be this heavy. We just have to stay positive.”
“We do?” Daniel asked. “I suppose your optimism should take precedence over years of scientific evidence. Maybe global temperatures will start warming up again if I really hope that’ll happen. Maybe the freakish blizzard tornados will stop and we can remove all the hydraulics from the ISUs. Maybe polar caps that melted decades ago will suddenly reform if I really hope for America’s former coastlines to stop being covered in—”
The crack of a gunshot echoed behind them, followed by a trio of muffled bangs.
“Gunshots,” Aziz said, turning toward the nearest ISU. “Should we get inside? Security warned about a trespasser.”
“Security always warns about trespassers,” Daniel said, staring toward the tree line beyond the rows of ISUs.
He tried to sound nonchalant but couldn’t shake away the nerves. If trespassers are treated so harshly, how will One Corp. punish those who can’t follow through on their business proposals? Daniel thought with a shiver, shaking his head.
“The ISUs are locked until occupants are assigned to them. If we want to be among those occupants, we need to keep going and figure this out.”
Daniel proceeded toward sector 8’s solar hub, though he forgot about the cold and looked around the village of ISUs, feeling dangerously exposed without any protection. He’d denied the need for security—the energy readings were something he wanted to stay between him and Aziz for now—and they’d left their snowmobile parked in sector 1, where they always returned once their readings were complete. Daniel’s earpiece crackled a moment later, the sudden noise startling him.
“You there, Binstadt?” a gruff voice asked.
Though Daniel often heard security updates via his earpiece, this was the first time in weeks he’d received a direct transmission. Realizing the situation must’ve been more serious than expected, he turned away from Aziz so his assistant wouldn’t see the concern etched across his face.
